Page 68 of Rating the Book Boyfriend

Istare at the two bags on the floor of our hotel room. There should be three. “I need my suit bag,” I tell the man on the phone, the third one I’d talked to today.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Romero, but we’re still trying to locate it.”

“I have an event tomorrow. I can’t show up without my suit,” I complain. “Find it and get it to the Four Seasons before I go to bed tonight.”

Libby walks into the room as I hang up and toss my phone on the bed. With a sexy sway of her hips, she walks right into my space and wraps her arms around my neck.

“Have I told you how hot it is when you get all bossy?”

As bad as my mood is, she pulls a smile from me.

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. So hot, I almost don’t want to tell you my good news.”

I lift a sardonic eyebrow. “You’ve magically procured me a suit?”

“Why, yes, Mr. Romero. I certainly have,” she says with a southern belle drawl.

“This isn’t the time to be fucking with me, Libby. I have to dress the part tomorrow, and most of my suits are custom-made because of my height.”

“Have you forgotten who my cousin is dating?” she sings, and my eyebrows rocket up my forehead.

“Bouvier?” I murmur, and she nods.

“He’s sending over a suit as we speak. Gianna and I compared notes, and we think you and Auburn are about the same size.”

The relief that shoots down my spine is laced with adoration for this woman. While I’ve been fighting with the airline, she’s been working on another solution.

“Babe…” I’m lost for words, so I kiss the hell out of her.

When we come up for air, she presses her lips against the corner of my mouth. “Gianna said something similar happened to her when she moved to New York, except the airline lostallher luggage. So she’s very sympathetic to your situation.”

Thirty minutes later, the concierge calls our room, saying we have a delivery, and I tell him to send the person to our suite. When he arrives, I’m surprised to find a well-dressed man in his fifties with dark-brown hair shot through with a healthy dose of gray.

“I am Devereaux,” he says formally, “Bouvier’s head designer. This is my assistant, Tora.” He nods toward the thin man behind him with huge brown eyes.

I resist the urge to sayholy shit!I’m not a fashion guru, but I’m well-versed enough to know that getting a personal visit from the head designer of a major fashion house is a big fucking deal.

“Devereaux, Tora, thank you so much for coming. Come in.” I gesture for them to enter, and they do, Tora pushing a hanging rack ahead of him.

“I’ve brought a selection from Mr. Bouvier’s personal collection,” Devereaux says. “We’re here to make sure whichever you pick fits properly.”

Tora’s voice is teasing as he winks, “We can’t have ill-fitting Bouvier suits floating around out in public. Dev would rather eat a carb than to see that happen.”

“For your information, I ate a carb last week, Tora.” He shudders. “It was delicious, but I did a two-day juice cleanse to counteract it.”

Tora goes to work sliding the suit bags down the rack. “I ate four doughnuts for breakfast today. And I did a cheesecake cleanse at lunch.”

“Not everyone is lucky enough to have the metabolism of a toddler, Tora,” Dev retorts, circling a finger at the rack. “Give me the black one.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the thin man says, affecting a royal curtsy at his boss before pulling out a suit bag.

These two are hilarious.

Libby walks out of the bedroom, dressed in a dark-green wrap dress that sits just at the curve of her shoulders. I forget for a moment that we have visitors as I practically leave a puddle of drool on the floor.

“Oh, hi?” she says, eyeing the two men. Like me, she probably expected a delivery person to simply drop off a suit.

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